


The Land Of One Hundred And One Dreams

by RiverSoul



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alsokindaweird, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Brakets, Cookies, Fun, Lotsofbrakets, M/M, Smut, alsoblowjobs, consultingprice!Sherlock, interruptercookieeating, king!mycroft - Freeform, knight!Jack, losttraveler!John, magician!Ten, princess!Ianto, youlllaughurassoff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverSoul/pseuds/RiverSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fairytale-like story about John traveling into the Kingdom of Mycroft Holmes by accident with a blue police he found in his garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time there was a wise and mighty King – Oh, let’s cut that out, shouldn’t we? The King actually wasn’t that mighty, as he couldn’t even control his own brother and he wasn’t that wise, as his brother Sherlock was much wiser than him (a wise-arse Sherlock was, at any rate). The King – Mycroft was his name – was a very lazy man as well. At the moment he was eating cookies. Cause what else would a King do while his subjects were busy working?

 

In this important business he was interrupted, though, by his annoying brother Sherlock (he wasn’t that annoying, actually, but if the King thinks he’s annoying, we will have to accept that for the moment, all right?). “How’s the diet?”, Sherlock asked. The King stared at him in boastful annoyance (cause simple, plain old “normal annoyance” just wouldn’t do for a King) ... and while doing that completely forgot what he was about to say. So instead, he asked: “No new cases, prince?” “Not yet, but I’ve found some interesting new specimen in the castle pond.” “What do they do?” “Nothing, but if you lay them in the sun, they turn from green to blue within three hours.” “Interesting... you can show them to me after dinner, if you must.” “I can’t... they all died in the process.” Mycroft rolled his eyes. “So you killed another species. If you go on like this, there will be no life left in this world in a few years. ” “I wouldn’t be that bored if you let me talk to the magician!” “The magician will stay in his cell, where he belongs. And you will stay out of his cell, where you belong! He has done enough harm!” Sherlock pouted. “He just wanted to show me some interesting stuff.” “He wanted to MATE with you!”, the King exclaimed. “I’m sure this was a misunderstanding.” (In fact, Sherlock KNEW it was... he just kept that option open in case he got REALLY bored.) Mycroft scowled at him. “Anyway, he wanted to take you away from this world and I will not allow that. It would only upset Mommy.” “Mommy is dead.” “Only because she’s a ghost doesn’t mean you can disrespect her!”, Mycroft shouted.

 

But even in his shouting he was interrupted. “Excuse me?”, a polite voice asked. The King sighed. He hadn’t even had half of his daily amount of cookies and had already been interrupted TWICE. “Yes, Princess?”, Mycroft asked, suddenly polite as well. (Changing from angry to polite in an instant is actually one of a King’s most important features.) “There's a newcomer in the garden,” princess Ianto answered. (Yes, Ianto is a princess’s name, even though it is, of course, only used for MALE princesses... more on that topic later.) “What do you mean, a newcomer?”, the King asked, still polite, even though he was slowly but surely getting irritated. (But you can’t possible be impolite to a princess, can you? (No, not even to a male one...)) “I don’t know... Jack and I were playing in the grass (he was using the term “to play” very liberally here)... and then he was suddenly there.”

 

“I’m sure he only wanted to ‘play’ with you”, Sherlock said sarcastically. Ianto blushed slightly. “Sherlock, just leave him alone for once,” Mycroft growled, (He only addressed his brother by his name when he was REALLY angry.) “in fact, you could put your ‘brilliant’ mind to some use and find out where this visitor comes from and what he wants here.” “I’m not your servant boy,” Sherlock said, but followed Ianto into the garden. (He actually WANTED to go, as visitors to the castle were rather rare these days and therefore promised to be not-boring and not-boring was exactly what Sherlock was looking for (in his mind “not-boring” is always written with an hyphen (or if it isn’t, it is HERE, don’t doubt the author! Never doubt the author!)).) (Also, he didn’t want to get killed by his brother.)

 

In the garden, Jack welcomed his lover back with a kiss, something he always did when they were separated for longer than three minutes (and sometimes in between). Sherlock rolled his eyes, something he always did when kissing (or sentiment in general) was involved (or when someone said something stupid, or when nobody said enough intelligent things. (There were many more occasions when he rolled his eyes, but we want to get on with the story.)) John, the newcomer, looked confused (which he also did quite often (especially since he had found a blue phone box in his garden, which turned out to be bigger on the inside).) “Who are all of you?”, he asked. “And what are you doing in my garden?” (The castle in the background made an effort not to stick out; otherwise he would have realized he was no longer in his garden.) “This isn’t your garden,” Jack said patiently, “and who are you?” 

 

“Shush, let me!”, Sherlock suddenly shouted. “He’s about 40, has been single for 3 weeks now, British, obviously, and some sort of... knight. And a doctor as well! And he’s – wait, don’t say anything – oh!” Sherlock’s eyes suddenly went wide. “You are not from this world!” “But how did he get here?”, Ianto asked. Sherlock scanned the lawn with his eyes. “With this blue box over there!” He pointed at the police box. John just stared at him. “From another...”, he started to say, but Sherlock interrupted him: “Wait, there’s more! There was some sort of war in your country. No, not in yours, in a country your country is currently in war with. (Sherlock liked confusing sentences, you see...) You were wounded there, a bullet in your shoulder, and you suffer from a psychosomatic limp. (He also liked talking real fast.) You are very fond of tea, your housekeeper – who is not your housekeeper – sex with slightly younger men (he did know what shame was, he just never bothered to care) and a cold shower in the morning.” John gawped at him, open-mouthed (which didn't make him less attractive. (Did I mention he was attractive? (Not in a common sense, maybe (more in a hedgehog kind of way. (Ok, I'll shut up now.))))) “That about right?”, Sherlock asked. “That was brilliant.” Jack laughed. “That’s not what people normally say.” “What do people normally say?” “Piss off.” John laughed. (Actually, some people would prefer to hit Sherlock in the face when he was being a bit ‘too smart’, but you can’t hit a prince in the face, can you? (In fact, it is also not a nice thing to do.)) 

 

“So, who are you?”, John asked again, now in a much better mood, because admiring people always got him in a much better mood (much more so if they were gorgeous (and Sherlock was gorgeous. (But you have figured that out already, haven’t you?))) Jack introduced everybody to John. “This is Sherlock, consulting prince, this is my beautiful lover, Princess Ianto, and I am Jack Harkness, knight and personal protector of the King.” John looked confused again. “What’s a consulting prince?” “Oh, you can’t know that, I invented the term,” Sherlock beamed, “I’m the only one in this realm, in this world, actually on all worlds.” (Always use figures of three if you want to sound really impressive!) “And what do you do as a consulting prince?”, John asked. “Oh, I solve crimes, mainly, but I also carry out experiments, and when I get really bored, I talk to my brother about my experiments.” “You are a detective, then?” “No, the term hasn’t been invented yet.” “I see,” John said. (He clearly didn’t.) “But you said he’s a princess – you certainly meant ‘prince’!” “No,” Sherlock said, “I am the prince.” “But he’s male!” “There can only be one prince,” Jack explained, “otherwise, how could you tell them apart?” “By their names?”, John asked. (It wasn’t a question, more a polite way of saying “How thick can you get.” (But hedgehogs don’t say things like that.)) “I’ve always said that,” Sherlock pointed out, “but my brother insists on calling everyone by their title.” “Who’s your brother, then?”, John asked. “The King.” “Oh, sorry, stupid question.” (He was one of the few people who sometimes realize that they have said something stupid. (They are really rare, actually.))

 

John suddenly realized that he hadn’t introduced himself yet. “I am John, by the way, John Watson.” He hesitantly held out his hand. “Is that all right or should I bow or something?” Sherlock took his hand and shook it. “Now, this is quite alright.” He smiled at John and John smiled back at him, looking Sherlock in the eyes, maybe a bit too deeply. (You can get lost in there, you know.) Ianto coughed to get John's attention. John cleared his throat (Sometimes, hedgehogs do get embarrassed), let go of Sherlock's hand and took Jack's (which didn't really improve the situation as Jack was kind of gorgeous as well). Before the handshaking got out of hand (wow, first unintended pun in this story!), Ianto coughed again and John took Ianto's hand in turn (which was much easier, as John could just pretend the 'princess' was really a female and he preferred men (even though he wasn't actually gay (as he was always afraid the word might be confused with ‘gay’ in the meaning of ‘happy’ and nobody wants to be happy all the time.))). (Also princesses don't cough while shaking hands, so there would have been no way of stopping him this time.) 

 

“Want to meet the King?,” Jack asked when John had let go of Ianto’s hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes. (Yes, he really does that a lot.) “I’m sure John won’t be interested in THAT.” John, however, said politely “Oh, I’d love to meet the King. But why are you American? Now that really doesn’t make any sense!”


	2. Chapter 2

The King was sitting on his throne, having fun with his... (Well, let's just say he sometimes gets bored by his cookies (as unlikely as it might seems)). But then this wasn’t really as much fun as he had hoped. Even though the throne seemed a thrillingly forbidden place for this (ignoring the fact that for the King, nothing is forbidden, of course), he was still alone and Mycroft in general didn’t enjoy this activity so much when he was alone.

 

So the King decided to go on a little adventure (even though in his mind he called it a “mission”. (The mission of the King’s happiness? The mission of the King’s distraction? (Oh, it’s just the “mission”, alright? Don’t give the writer a migraine!)) It was a long journey through the King’s Palace and sometimes he got lost on his way. (Google maps hadn’t been invented yet (and no, he didn’t have a satnav either! Now leave me alone with your stupid questions, won't you?)) The climax of his journey (pun intended) would be the castle’s dungeon, but to reach the dungeon, Mycroft had to find the stairs which led there and he had never been good at finding stairs. 

 

Mycroft was swearing silently to himself as the stairs seemed to sneak further and further away from him (no, it’s not Hogwarts! (Seriously, people, you have to FOCUS.)), and could have kicked himself for not bringing his cookies along. (No, he didn’t REALLY want to ‘kick himself’, it’s just a figure of speech, you numnuts!) After a while, though, the King did find his way, because the King always does. (This is one of the positive side effects of kinging: You always get your way. (And yes, ‘kinging’ is a word! Haven’t you seen “The King's Speech”? (If you haven't, go watch it, it's the best film ever! (No, there isn't any porn in it.)))

 

Reaching the dungeon, Mycroft was a bit out of breath (mainly because he wasn't on a diet (because a King doesn't DO diets (even if he should)), but you would never tell him that (except if you fancied hanging (which nobody does, really (oh, this is just nonsense!)))). However, being out of breath had never really stopped Mycroft. Purposefully, he walked towards the first cell, which was also the only one which was occupied, and realized too late that it was the guard's free day. And of course, the King didn't carry any keys around (in fact, he didn’t carry anything around (he was completely against the concept of “carrying stuff around” (except cookies, of course, (but then he always forgot to bring them as well (which was a pity (especially in this case)))))). “Fucking Christ!”, the Kind shouted. 

 

Here, I will have to explain something to you: Swearing in this kingdom is strictly forbidden. The only exception is the King, as a King is allowed to do everything. But as swearing has a bad influence on his people, the King refrains from swearing except in case of emergency (as for example the loss of cookies, a mislaid cookie, or anything else related to cookies (or, in this case, anything related to things which give the King as much pleasure as eating cookies (which really is only one thing. (You want to know which? Oh come on, use your imagination!)))) 

 

“No, I wouldn’t do this,” the King’s only prisoner said. “Excuse me?”, the Mycroft asked. “Well,” the magician (which IS the only prisoner, didn’t you pay attention?) elaborated, “fucking Christ is just not good in so many ways. There’s the sacrilege thing, of course. Then the guy has long been dead and there would be really no point in…” “Alright, alright,” Mycroft said, holding his hands up in surrender (which he rarely did, but there isn’t a lot you can do in the face of a forestalled shag, is there?), “you are very witty today. But do tell me if there is any way of getting you out of that cell or me into the cell without the keys.” The magician laughed. “Of course there is a way; it's easy, really.” “So?”, Mycroft raised his eyebrows in expectation. “I will only need my sonic screwdriver.” “And where is that precious device?”, the King demanded (he could have simply asked, but a King is always much more fond of demanding). “Well,” the magician answered, ”it is in the Tardis.” Mycroft sighed (he could have rolled his eyes, but he would come to this later…). “And where is the Tardis?”, he condescended to ask. “In another world,” the magician smiled. (Oh, he LOVED this conclusion. It was so promising. (Promising as in “driving the King to despair”.)) 

 

The King rolled his eyes. (Told you he would do that!) “And where in the name of motherfucking baby Jesus is that?” (Please don’t use this expression at home, only the King is allowed to such profanities (which don’t even make sense. (…just sayin’.))) “I don’t know,” the magician said, looking mildly confused (it is rather rare for magicians to not know something.), “but what is so important that it can't wait until the guard is back tomorrow?” Mycroft didn't like this situation at all. Above all, he didn't like that the magician talked to him like that. (He was the King, after all.) So he decided to do something about it.

 

What Mycroft did do, eventually, was opening his trousers and taking his dick out. (Oh, really, what did you expect? This isn’t highly intelligent literature, you know. (Even though I would like you to treat it as such.)) The magician stared at it for some moments, and then he moved as close to Mycroft as the prison bars allowed and went on his knees (because, really, if you could see that specimen, you would go on your knees as well (and I don’t CARE if you’re not actually gay, you would! (I would, at any rate. *coughs*))) Mycroft looked down on him and moved closer to the bars as well. The next step would be to stick his dicks through the bars, don’t you think? Well, then let's have him do that…

 

Outside, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. It was quite nice in the gardens of the castle, so let’s just go there for some time. I can tell you a lot about the flowers in this garden, for example. That’s much more interesting than what the King is doing at the moment, don’t you think?

 

Nah, I was just kidding, I don’t want you to miss this: The magician knew exactly what to do with a dick offered to you through the bars of a prison cell (not that he had done that before (but he had dreamt about it (quite vividly, actually (and then woken up with a raging… oh, let’s just get back to the story.)))) So he first licked at it experimentally, making Mycroft hum in appreciation. The magician understood this as a request for more licking (cause that’s what we’re aiming for here, right?), and it soon got messy (and by messy, I mean quite noisy. (The King was noisy, that is, because you can’t really get noisy when you’re busy licking a King’s cock, can you?) “Oh God, yes,” Mycroft moaned, his cock stiffening, “take it into your mouth” (You could see this as a demand as well, but it was actually just a King liking his dirty talk (oh, don’t you just hate those people who spoil some good porn by interpreting it? (Not that this is porn, of course…)))

 

The magician happily obliged and swallowed the King’s cock down (cause that's what you do, when you're giving a blow-job. (Just in case you didn't know. (I'll be quiet now, enjoy the show.))) “Oh yes, suck me,” Mycroft said. The magician moaned around the King’s cock and sucked eagerly. His cock was also visibly erect now in his tight trousers. “Hold still,” Mycroft demanded after some time of loud moaning and sucking, “I want to fuck your mouth until I come.” The magician stopped moving and the King had his way with him, pulling his cock out and then pushing it back inside the other man’s mouth. “Oh God, you’re gorgeous like that, you make me so horny.” The magician moaned and started moving his hips rhythmically. “Drives you wild as well, doesn’t it?”, Mycroft asked, gripping the bars of the cell, and started fucking the magician’s mouth. “YES,” the King suddenly shouted, “I’m close, so close, yeeeeeees, almost there, yees... THERE!” and ejaculated into the magician's mouth, who swallowed it all down. The magician’s hips stuttered and then he came into his trousers, mouth still full of the King’s cock. 

 

At this point, Mycroft should just have taken his cock out of the other man’s mouth and put it back in his trousers (because it IS the decent thing to do, isn’t it? You can’t just LEAVE it there… (Also, please take your hands out of your pants, dear readers, that’s disgusting!)) However, a King does what a King wants to do and right now the King just wanted to admire the sight of a beautiful man kneeling in front of him, a dark tell-tale patch on his trousers. (It WAS quite a beautiful sight, I must admit. (No, I wasn't there. (If you can't imagine it, just paint a picture of it or something... (If you do paint a picture of it, please send it to me! (I’m serious, I NEED THAT PICTURE!))))) 

 

So, it really was the King’s own fault that his brother, Princess Ianto, Jack the Knight and John the Newcomer (it’s not really a title, I know, but it is quite catchy, isn’t it?) found him just like that. And it also really was the King's fault that John got his first boner in weeks. But that, my dear readers, is another story. Good night and DO PUT YOUR HANDS OUT OF YOUR PANTS!


End file.
